Pretty Stranger...Why Are You Following Me? (Sherlock Fanfiction)

Chapter Fourteen

Two weeks ago Sherlock had gone missing. It was now midnight and I was asleep on the couch, but not for much longer.

My front door flew open and someone staggered in. I woke up quickly and grabbed a fire poker from my fireplace.

"Get out or I'll stab you!" I shouted shakily. "You'd really stab me?" A deep and familiar voice asked. I dropped the weapon a ran up to hug the man. "Where the hell were you?" I asked. "Out." He said. "You had me worried sick, Sherlock." I said, not letting go of his neck.

"Why would you be worried? We haven't really talked in two months." Sherlock said. I peeled back, looking down and brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. "That doesn't mean that you're not my friend and that I don't love you still." I muttered, unable to keep myself from saying the last words. "What was that?" Sherlock asked. "You're still my friend, Sherlock. Just because you decided to ignore me doesn't mean that we're not friends." I stated angrily. Sherlock nodded, but it wasn't a understanding nod. It was a different nod and I had no idea what it meant.

I pulled Sherlock into the kitchen light to look at him. He had a black eye, cuts along his face and arm. And by the way he was walking, something in his leg was broken. There was also a bruise by his wrist, and I had an idea of what it could be.

"My God, Sherlock. What did you get yourself into this time?" I asked, taking his wrist in my hands. He winced when I touched the bruise. "Stuff." He muttered. "Well, you've sprained your wrist and probably broken your leg." I said, letting his arm drop. "Yes, I've deduced that." Sherlock said. "Of course you did." I muttered angrily, sitting down on the couch. Sherlock just stood there.

"You're mad at me. Why are you mad at me?" Sherlock asked. "You didn't talk to me for two months, Sherlock! Even when we were on a case together, you didn't talk to me. Of course I'm mad, you bloody idiot!" I shouted at him, standing up. "I am no-"

"Don't you dare say you're a genius, Sherlock Holmes. I will slap you so hard you'll go into a coma. And maybe when you wake up, you'll understand something about emotions." I stated plainly, glaring at him. "Why do you care so much about me?" He asked. I snorted. "Of course you can't see it." I muttered, turning away. "See what?" Sherlock asked curiously. "Never mind. You wouldn't understand it." I said, brushing him off like a bug on my arm. "Tell me, Emily." Sherlock stated. "No, Sherlock. Just stop prying." I said. I looked at him. Sherlock was standing here in my living room for the second time. And even this time I was still yelling at him. But not because I hated him, because of the exact opposite. "Just tell-"

"I love you, God dammit!" I screamed at him. "You can't see it, but I love you. You're the most stubborn and ignorant person I know, but that doesn't change the way I feel. I'm in love with Sherlock Holmes! There! I said it, you happy?" I was hysterical. Sherlock couldn't see a God damn thing, but at least he knew it. He just stared at me. His lips forming words, but nothing coming out.

"Out!" I said, pushing him. Towards the door. "Get out." I pushed him out. "Don't you ever come back here, Sherlock Holmes!" I screamed as he stared. "Where am I supposed to go?" Sherlock asked. "I don't give a damn where you go! Go to Iran, for all I care! I'm sure John would be happy to see you." And I slammed the door shut, sliding down to the floor.

I put my head in my hands ad cried.

"God damn you, Sherlock Holmes." I whispered.

"God damn you all."